


Rat in a Foxhole

by thelonebamf



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Possibly Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-18 08:25:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9376628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelonebamf/pseuds/thelonebamf
Summary: Snake returns from Operation N313, lauded a hero and finds the latest shipment of Foxhound recruits already at the camp. Still struggling to sort out his thoughts about the mission, he finds his attention drawn to one rookie in particular, a scrawny, unassuming runt who can't seem to stay out of trouble. (For SnotWeek 2017 - "Recovery")





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Foxhound AU](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/257369) by Polmcarts. 



“Operation N313 was a success, then.”

 

The shuffling of papers, scribbling of lines, the click of a pen- all somehow louder than the rain of bullets and fire.

 

“Metal Gear was destroyed. Sir. But as to the rest of the objectives.”

 

“It was a success.”

 

Snake shifted slightly, though never allowing his body to truly leave attention as he studied the face of the man seated before him. Miller was a hard read even on the best days, his dark glasses obscuring all but his most blatant shifts in mood- which were usually from bad to  _ very _ bad. 

 

There didn’t seem to be an anger there now, though- just tiredness, perhaps. Snake could empathize with that- every muscle still aching from his most recent mission, cuts and bruises still raw and red. He’d had time for a shower before making his report, but not much else. 

 

“Well,” Miller stood sharply from his desk, prosthetic arm clicking softly against the wood. “This all appears to be in order.”

 

“Sir, about Fox-”

 

“I recommend you head to Mess before dinner is over. Get a good meal inside of you and get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

 

“Sir-”

 

“That will be all Snake.”

 

Miller exited his office, leaving Snake with no option but to do the same, and despite his exhaustion and lack of any meaningful appetite, he found himself following orders, heading into the mess hall, still bustling with the latest shipment of recruits. 

 

Word had already made its way around the camp about Snake’s mission and his return, how he had succeeded even where Foxhound’s greatest soldier had failed. The crowd parted even without his asking, a hush falling over the room until he was seated with his tray. 

 

“Snake, good to have you back!” 

 

“Tiger, hey.” Snake nodded as he lifted his fork, quickly swallowing a tasteless mouthful of what might have once claimed to be peas and carrots. “Good to be back.”

 

“Get a load of all the fresh meat?” Another young man found a spot to Snake’s side, this one tall and gangly, with long hair that defied regulation. “Most of ‘em won’t be here long, this is just a pit stop on their way to whatever two-bit summer camp is open,” he grinned, a sickly thin sort of thing. 

 

“Well none of ‘em are gonna be sharing my bunk,” Tiger added, pulling a tough piece of his bread with his teeth.

 

“Nobody is fighting over that assignment, believe me.”

 

Snake looked up from his meal to scan the crowd, though it wasn’t difficult to spot the new faces. Even if he hadn’t been well acquainted with the other men who lived on the base, the new recruits had a look about them that was easily identifiable. Their eyes shone brightly, their words were swift. There was a confidence borne of untested ability, the quickest to don and most dangerous to lose. It was just as well that the majority of them would be on their way out soon, far away from the merciless pace set for them by “Hell” Master Miller.

 

“Who’s that?”

 

The others turned without bothering to disguise their intent, eyes all instantly locked on one of the new faces, a pale and skinny  _ boy, _ really, who was doing his best to demolish the untidy piles of food before him. His age was hard to guess, bony face sporting hair that was a grungy sort of gray, small frame hunched over the table and arm wrapped close around the front of his tray. His eyes followed after the other recruits, watching carefully as the sat or left the table, but he made no attempt to find his way into any of their conversations.

 

“Dunno,” shrugged Tiger. “We don’t usually name them til we know they’ll survive.”

 

Snake couldn’t help but laugh at that, a single huff before returning to his food.

 

* * *

 

 

Most of the new faces disappeared over the next two weeks, all of them a lot less fresh than when they’d arrived. Only a handful remained, those who had managed to prove their mettle to Miller via their exceptional performance. 

 

And then there was Rat.

 

Despite the fact that other, far more robust candidates were sent packing, the scrawny boy remained at the camp for training.

 

Not that he was any good at it. Quite the contrary, really. Snake watched from the corner of his eye as he strained under the weight of his pack, falling laps behind the rest of the men. At first, he thought he might be in for a tongue lashing from Miller, more whistle blowing and obscenities until he picked up the pace. But their commander didn’t seem to care, only muttering a half-hearted “Give it up, Rat” before leaving the track as the others finished, following them all inside for their evening meal.

 

An hour passed, and another. The crew was fed and showered and settling in for the night, but Snake opted to sneak out for a last cigarette, one of the exceptions Miller was willing to make for the returning hero. He tucked himself away against the corner of a building, the awning just wide enough to shield him from the sudden rain. Smoke clung to the air around him, trapped by the curtain of water obscuring his view of the training field, but as he stared out into the dark he could see something moving in the distance.

 

He exhaled, hard enough to clear the smoke away as he leaned forward, cold droplets of water falling against his nose and lips, and frowned.

 

Mud up to his knees, wet hair stuck flat against his skull, miserable and half-drowned as his namesake, Rat was still on the field. He was bent over so far Snake could feel his own back aching in sympathy. Snake watched as he plodded along the track, each step a slow and plodding ordeal.

 

What the kid was trying to prove, Snake had no idea. Miller had probably retired for the evening, holed up in his bunk or more likely his office, with a stack of paperwork and a bottle of something cheap and strong. 

 

He shook his head, throwing the rest of his cigarette onto the ground where it hissed and darkened at once.

 

“Dammit.”

 

* * *

 

 

Rat returned to his bunk another hour later, showered and slowly regaining feeling in his hands and feet at last. He prepared for bed, eyes first on the bunk that had remained vacant since his first day at camp, then his own. 

 

Glasses off, stripped down to his shirt and boxers, he crawled into bed, face hitting the pillow with a soft crinkle. He reached behind his head and pulled out a small packet, it hadn’t been there when he’d left that morning.

 

The peanut butter and crackers were no substitute for the meal he’d missed, but they were better than nothing. In a flash they were gone.

 

* * *

 

Predictably, Snake ended up with more responsibilities supervising the men, with strict instructions to monitor the last of the new recruits, and report back directly to Miller. It wasn’t a role he was particularly enthused about, but if it meant someone else was responsible for peeling potatoes and scrubbing out the latrine, he wasn’t going to complain.

 

He was watching now, as a dozen or so young men worked on detailing the hallway of the barracks. For the most part, they did their job with little noise, but Snake couldn’t help but notice some pointed snickering coming from the end of the corridor.

 

“Tell us again, Rat. How big was it? Thirty feet? Fifty?”

 

“Fifteen meters,” he answered, shoving his mop through the sudsy water without looking up.

 

A high pitched whistle came from one of the recruits, the would-be leader of the pack who had been assigned the name “Crow”. He saw Snake approaching and immediately snapped to attention, urging the rest of the crowd to follow suit. None of them bothered to stop Rat, and he continued to wordlessly push the mop along the floor until he ran into Snake’s boots.

 

“Watch where you’re going, Rat!” hissed Crow.

 

“That’s enough, soldier,” Snake barked, causing the rest of them to fall in line, standing at attention. Even Rat pulled himself up, knuckles white around the handle of his mop.

 

“What’s all this about, then?”

 

Rat opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated, eyes darting to the young men beside him. Crow seized the opportunity, stepping forward to speak.

 

“Rat here claims he was some kind of pilot before coming to Foxhound,” he sneered, clearly pleased with the information he’d managed to coax out of the shaking boy. “Ten years of experience, he says. Stupid.”

 

He turned to Rat, who was staring down at the ground, unwilling to meet their eyes. 

 

“Piloting when you were in kindergarten, then? They don’t count Hot Wheels on your resume, you know.” Crow smiled back at Snake, taking the stern look on his face to mean that he agreed with his assessment. “Oh but it wasn’t planes or tanks; you might not think it but he likes to talk a big game. Robots.”

 

“That’s  _ enough _ , Crow.”

 

“Tell Snake here about the robot, Rat. The one only you could-”

 

“Dismissed, Crow!” Snake didn’t know why he’d shouted, but it was enough to make one of the other recruits grab Crow by the arm, pulling him back until he stopped speaking.

 

“All of you, dismissed. Head to the barracks. Anyone gives you trouble, tell them to come talk to me.”

 

Wordlessly they began shuffling around, looking for a place to put their mops and buckets, carefully maneuvering around on the floor, still shiny and wet.

 

“Except you, Rat. Keep mopping.”

 

The boy nodded and redoubled his pace, face reddened either from the exertion or embarrassment, Snake couldn’t tell. He stood aside, letting the rest of the men stream past him in a wary and weaving sort of line. When they were gone he picked up one of the abandoned mops, and joined Rat out on the floor.

 

“Tell me more about the robot.”

 

* * *

 

 

Things calmed down over the next few weeks, the new faces slowly blending in with the old as camaraderies were forged in the blazing fire that was Hellmaster Miller’s command. The new recruits were slowly accepted into the fold, finding their way into the rank and file, mess hall tables no longer sharply divided. 

 

It was Rat alone who found himself routinely at the edge of the furthest table, or more often outside, tray balanced on his knees as he ate as quickly as he could, nose buried in a book. Snake watched him now as he vanished again, shoulders hunched and head down as he pressed his way through the crowd and the doors. 

 

Rat had proven surprisingly resilient, if not at all suited to the training. When he’d arrived at the camp he looked like a good wind would have blown him over, hair like dry grass, and raccoon eyes that were nervous and watchful. A few weeks of decent food had improved on that, at least. 

 

He made no real attempt to intermingle with the men though, usually staying on the outskirts of the group, though Snake could tell he was always watching and a keen listener besides. It still left him wondering what the hell he was doing here in the first place though, even if half of his stories about his career as some kind of prodigy pilot were to be believed. Foxhound dealt in survival missions, where most equipment was procured on site- some place like the Air Force might have been a better fit- though they might have taken issue with the kid’s glasses.

 

The funny thing was, whereas most of the recruits (and not just the new ones) were always eager to prove themselves, talking a big game about their physical prowess and sexual conquests- Rat remained mostly silent. He never brought up the past, in fact he rarely spoke at all, unless directly addressed, and even he was bright enough to know when he was being goaded on. 

 

But Snake had found him surprisingly well-spoken when he did decide to open his mouth, brainy specs clearly not just for show. The kid clearly had some kind of education, and it was a damn sight better than what most of the men here had had, himself included. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he was some kind of mechanical genius.

 

His stories about the giant robot had been illuminating, at any rate. 

 

Snake tried not to think too hard about it, and rose to return his tray before heading back out to the field. He stopped just outside for a quick smoke, giving a brief nod to the men standing along the wall, just beyond the thick iron barrels the camp used for garbage.  They returned in kind, eyes shifting from him to the door, clearly waiting for someone to join them. 

 

Their wait wasn’t long though, as Rat came through the doors, battered paperback still in hand.

 

“Grab ‘im!”

 

Snake’s eyes darted up, just in time to see one of the other men, Bullfrog, who had been in the company even longer than Snake, reached his long arms out and snared Rat around his waist, hoisting him easily into the air. Rat’s breath caught in his lungs, a startled and frantic whine as he kicked, and struggled to free himself, to no avail.

 

Crow was already angling one of the barrels, just enough to for its wide mouth to swallow Rat down. “C’mon Ace. Into the cockpit!”

 

“Put him down,” Snake scowled, annoyed as his cigarette fell to the ground. Schoolyard bullying? In his camp? “Now!”

 

Bullfrog all but tossed Rat to the ground, and the edges of Snake’s eyes tensed as he heard the sick crack of his kneecaps on the cement. 

 

“Hit the showers, Rat.”

 

“But-”

 

“Did I stutter?”

 

“Y-yes sir.”

Rat disappeared through the doors again, leaving Snake with the others- all frowning deeply at the loss of their entertainment.

 

“What the hell, Snake?”

 

“I expected better of you, the lot of you. Bullfrog, you let them talk you into this sort of childish nonsense?” Snake crushed the remains of his cigarette, dragging it across the ground. “If Rat’s still here, that means Miller wants him here. As long as he wears that uniform, he’s one of us.”

 

“Yeah, well, we could have fixed that too if you’d given us another couple of minutes,” Crow scowled.

 

“Watch it.”

 

“Snake, what the hell,” Bullfrog shoved past the others until he was square with Snake, long limbs affording him half a head in height, an advantage he sought to press now. “We know you don’t like him either. Crow told us how you left him to do clean-up duty alone. So what’s to keep us from having a little fun?”

 

“Master Miller-”

 

“Yeah, Miller! Last I checked he was in charge, not you.” Bullfrog took a step, closing the space between them, drawing near enough that Snake could smell what he’d had for lunch. Salisbury steak. With mustard. God only knew why. 

 

“You come back from your top secret mission, think you’re the boss now. Think now that Fox is gone you get to call the shots.”

 

“Easy there,” Snake’s eyes were narrow, voice low. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“I know you were supposed to bring him back! So where is he, Snake? Where’s F-”

 

It was enough to send Bullfrog several paces back, the blow landing square on the underside of his jaw. Snake squared his stance, boots scraping against the ground as he raised his arms, inviting Bullfrog to return the attack if he dared.

 

To their credit, the other men stood aside, unwilling or perhaps unable to force their way into the fray. Bullfrog was no fresh-faced recruit, but Snake hadn’t risen through the ranks without honing considerable skills. 

 

The blow to his eye burned like hell, dark and explosive stars crashing against the side of his face, and he could taste copper against his teeth, although it might well have belonged to Bullfrog. Snake barrelled forward, a direct blow to Bullfrog’s chest, knocking the wind out of him and laying him flat on the ground where his head smacked against the cement with the dull thud. He growled, hands, nails scraping as he pushed himself up, leaving a red stain behind.

 

“That’s enough!”

 

The small crowd quickly turned, Miller’s voice booming over the assorted hollering and whistles. Both Snake and Bullfrog quickly rose to their feet, bloody knuckles clenched tightly at their side.

 

“You boys were  _ not _ fighting in my camp,” Miller stated with such conviction Snake half found himself believing it was true. “The two of you, clean up and report to my office at 18:00.”

 

Snake and Bullfrog both refused to move until the crowd dispersed, eventually dragging Bullfrog along with it. Snake remained stock still on the spot, eyes still full of a willingness to challenge until the lot of them were out of sight. Only then did he inhale deeply, frowning at the sting in his chest. He hadn’t been the only one to land a few blows. 

 

He tapped gingerly at the side of his face, telltale heat warning of the bruises that were soon to come. Not a good look for a supposed hero. But then, he’d never asked to be one.

 

It was then that he caught sight of it, beaten and half covered in dirt and debris. Checking to make sure no one was looking he reached out and picked it up, Rat’s book. It had a mundane enough cover, simple and black; Snake didn’t bother flipping through it as he tucked it into his pocket.

 

It was dark by the time he returned to his bunk, mostly clean and entirely exhausted. He turned on his side, eyes squinting in the dark, and he could just about make out the worn edges of the paperback, barely catching the light from outside. He’d return it later, right now the last thing he wanted to think about was Rat.

 

* * *

 

 

Snake awoke a few hours later, heart pounding, sweat already beading on his forehead.

 

_ It had all been so clear, every gunshot, every explosion, every slap of his boots against the ground of the compound he’d infiltrated. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet every detail was there, crisp and clear when he closed his eyes. It didn’t surprise him to see Fox’s face, worn and beaten beneath his bandana, to hear Big Boss’s voice barking commands through the radio as he made his way to Metal Gear. _

 

_ He’d found the hangar just as he’d remembered, whine of security lasers overhead, grenades in hand as he placed them at the base of the hulking and monstrous machine. But something was wrong. _

 

_ It happened in a blur as he dodged out of the way one last time, taking shelter behind a wall of crates, eyes watchful as the final explosion went off, taking Metal Gear with it, until the entire thing collapsed on itself, steel mountain crashing to the ground and splitting open. _

 

_ Snake found himself standing over the rubble (when had he walked near?) and looking down at his handiwork, stomach sinking to the shaking floor. The air was thick with the stench of oil, gunpowder… _

 

_ Blood. _

 

_ Mangled and broken amongst the shards of metal and wire, Snake could see him. A face new, but familiar- and far too young for all of this. _

 

_ Rat’s glasses were broken in half, lenses shattered in front of eyes wide, blank, and unseeing. _

  
Snake didn’t bother trying for sleep again.


	2. Chapter 2

 

It took two days for Miller to devise a punishment he considered adequate for what he called “disruptive infighting”. Very loudly. And for nearly an hour. 

 

Snake didn’t bother trying to reason with him, or explain what the others had intended to do to Rat. It didn’t seem like the man was interested anyway, and Snake had long since given up on complaining when things weren’t “fair”. 

 

So it was the two of them now, standing on the still-damp ground in front of one of the men’s least favorite pieces of training equipment. The wire obstacle was rusted and worn from years of rain and disuse and it grinned back at them like a broken-toothed dragon. Bullfrog held onto a spool of fresh wire- not to closely, glaring at the course as though it had personally attacked him. Which it may very well have.

 

Neither of them spoke as they went about their task, silent pointing and gestures enough to get most of the job done. The two had worked side by side on countless other training objectives, had even had to work together to deep clean the kitchens on more than one occasion, and their experience reading each other came in handy now. 

 

Snake wasn’t sure what he’d say to the man anyway. Aside from his briefing with Miller, he hadn’t discussed the details of his mission with anyone, though it was clear some information had leaked regardless. It was possible Bullfrog, Crow, and the rest of them might lighten up on Rat if they knew of the existence of Metal Gear, and its capabilities- but he knew that their dislike for the boy had less to do with his stories and everything to do with his… otherness. 

 

Besides, the data was all surely classified, and Miller would probably deny it all if asked.

 

His pliers snapped through the brittle wire, sending a tendril flying up through the air before lashing out at Bullfrog’s face.

 

“Fuck! What the hell!” He grasped the side of his face blood already smeared against his fingers. 

 

“Bullfrog, shit. I’m sorry!” Snake dropped the wire ran over, but Bullfrog turned, blocking his approach with a broad arm. 

 

“Just stay the fuck away from me and finish the job,” he yelled, letting go of his wound to reach down and pull up the new bolts of wire. 

 

“I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, Snake,” he spat. “You come back from that mission and… it’s like you changed or something. They fuck with your head?”

 

“No. I don’t know.”

 

“Well fix it.”

 

He growled and started pushing the roll of wire to unwind it, thick strands springing out in unruly loops. As Snake continued dismantling the rusted pieces from their posts, Bullfrog followed behind, grumbling softly as he twisted and bound each new piece into place. 

 

It was difficult work, and the fall winds had Snake’s hands sore and numb well before they were through. It was nearly dusk when the course was finished, new wire almost gold in the setting sun. Snake kicked the last of the busted iron onto itself as he pulled a soft-edged pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offering one to Bullfrog, which he accepted with a quick buck of his chin.

 

“Thanks. Owe you one.”

 

“Alright then,” Snake produced a lighter, offering it to his companion before using it himself. He took a drag, staring out at the disappearing sun. “Lay off of Rat.”

 

Bullfrog shook his head, tufts of smoke coming out in broken bursts as he cast a sideways glare at Snake.

 

“This again? What’s your deal? He’s not one of us!”

 

“None of us were “one of us” when we got here.”

 

“Yeah, well he’s never gonna be,” he spat, throwing his cigarette, half finished to the ground. “Miller’s taking his sweet time sending him out of here, we’re just trying to help speed things up.”

 

Snake frowned, holding his own cig between tense lips as he bent over to start collecting the largest pieces of refuse. “Don’t really see how that’s your job. What’s is it to you if the kid hangs around for a while?”

 

“You’re kidding right?” There was a single thin rasp of laughter. “That emblem on your uniform mean nothing to you, then? Foxhound isn’t a place for cast offs and orphans. We mean something. We’re heroes, legends in the making. Used to think you were the best of us, you and F-”

 

“Don’t bring Fox into this.”

 

Bullfrog straightened up, drawing to his full height, eyes narrowing as he watched Snake, still hunched over the pile of wire.

 

“Yeah. Guess I was wrong about Fox,” he said at last, taking a few steps closer.

 

“And I was wrong about you.”

 

Snake had half been expecting the blow at his back, hard enough to leave an imprint of Bullfrog’s size thirteens. And yet he made no move to stop it, though it landed him face down in the gnarled strands that pulled and tore at his face and arms. He yelled, scrambling to free himself, but Bullfrog was already gone.

  
  


Grumbling, Snake dragged himself towards the infirmary, unsure if he wanted to go inside. The cuts and scratches on his face weren’t worth the inevitable incident report, and at this point he wasn’t sure whether it would be worse to report Bullfrog or lie and have Miller think him a blundering fool. He stood just outside the doors, before turning and walking away, throwing himself against the furthest wall of the small building, hissing as the stabbing pain in his arm contested his decision.

 

He’d started swiping away at the worst of the blood with his shirt when something caught his eye, just around the corner. A tiny glimmer of reflected light- bright halogen bulbs reflected in plastic lenses.

 

Rat.

 

The boy didn’t say anything, just came closer, each step cautious and wary. It wasn’t until he knelt beside him that Snake noticed he the first aid kit.

 

Rat didn’t speak, but immediately opened the kit and started tending to Snake’s wounds with practiced efficiency. Gauze and disinfectants sat in rows as nimble fingers moved from one set of cuts to the next. Snake’s eyes closed, head twitching away as Rat’s hands dabbed the network of scrapes striping his cheek. The burn of the alcohol, he told himself.

 

“You left the crackers in my bunk,” he said at last, pulling the cotton pad away and frowning at the amount of blood on it.

 

Snake said nothing and stared at him with curious eyes, but Rat never looked up, entirely focused on his work.

 

“It’s only that- well I assumed it was you. You’re the only one who hasn’t…” He pulled a piece of tape from its roll and cut it loose.

 

“Just wanted to say thanks.”

 

Rat’s fingers were cold, but Snake leaned into them anyway, skin pulled taut by the piece of gauze.

 

“It’s not a big deal.”

 

“Right.”

 

Rat turned his attention to the gash running the length of Snake’s forearm. It was still wet with dark blood, but Rat made no immediate move to clean it, instead inspecting the cut carefully. After a few seconds, he pulled a small metal cylinder from his pocket, about the size of a battery. 

 

“The hell is that for?” Snake turned his head just enough to see as Rat ran it just over the length of his cut, hovering about a centimeter away from the skin. “Some kind of… fuck!” A sharp stab from somewhere in his arm had him bucking forward, but Rat hadn’t actually touched him.

 

“You fell into the rusted iron, right? That stuff is brittle, but dangerous. You’ve got some lodged under the skin, maybe even in the muscle.”

 

“What is that, some kind of radar?”

 

“No,” Rat held up the tiny block, a dull sort of iron, the kind every warehouse and scrapyard was full of. “Just a magnet. I can feel it pulling where there’s bits of metal imbedded in the tissue. It’s easier to pick them out with the tweezers if they’re visible near the surface, see?”

 

Sure enough, a shard of metal, dull and rusty red began to peek out of the settling blood, and all at once it shot out, sticking to the underside of the magnet, joined by a few miniscule partners that would have been sure to give Snake trouble if left unnoticed.

 

“That’s a good trick.”

 

Rat didn’t say anything at that, but Snake thought he detected the faintest twitch of his lips, eyes crinkling behind his glasses. 

 

“Shit, that hurts!”

 

“Sorry, sorry!’ Rat drew back suddenly, eyes wide, arms suddenly up against his chest, face covered by trembling fists. 

 

“What? No, Rat,” Snake hissed an intake of breath, trying not to think about the stinging. “It’s fine. Better out than in. Keep at it.”

 

Rat hesitated, lowering his arms slowly and looked at Snake for a moment before taking his arm again. A few more cautious passes of the magnet found only one more piece, the tip of a particularly nasty spike that had looked on the verge of shattering into several smaller pieces. It snapped to make contact with a satisfying ‘click’, and Rat bore the tiniest hint of a smirk at a job well done.

 

“That it?” Snake raised an eyebrow, venturing a look at his handiwork.

 

“I’m nothing if not thorough,” Rat nodded, reaching for the antiseptic and gauze. “Um, this is going to sting a little.”

 

Snake huffed and put on a small grin of his own. “I think I can take it.”

 

Rat’s hands were quick, tight circles of gauze wrapped around Snake’s arm with gentle pressure. Snake found himself almost mesmerized, but maybe he was just dazed after having the shit kicked out of him for the second time that week.

 

“No offense, but what the hell are you _ doing _ here?”

 

The words slipped out before he could stop them, hanging gracelessly in the air. 

 

Rat’s face grew worried, but he didn’t stop wrapping up Snake’s arm, only daring to speak when he’d secured the gauze.

 

“Why are you asking me that? Is it because I’m… too young? Too weak?” Rat didn’t seem to expect a response, already busy replacing each item neatly in the kit, leaving Snake to wonder why the had asked at all.

 

Plenty of kids joined up in one branch of the military or another before they were technically eligible. But they were usually the sort who were already on the soldier’s path, boys in men’s bodies, trying to prove themselves early. 

 

Hell, Snake himself hadn’t been so different. Landing in his first boot camp before he could vote for the man who could send him to war. 

 

“Don’t be an idiot,” he grumbled at last, fingers and lips twitching for a smoke. “I just want to know if you actually signed up for this hellhole or were thrown here for some reason.”

 

He sighed, hand raised and about to seek out the cardboard box in one of his pockets, but instead it landed on Rat’s shoulder, earning him a shocked look in return.

 

“I know it’s none of my business,” he tried to force a smile, anything to take the edge off of the worried expression painted across Rat’s face, but he only managed to screw his face up in concentration, studying the boy’s features. “But I can’t help the feeling you’re too good to be here.”

 

Rat didn’t seem to know how to respond, his lips twisted on the edge of disagreement, cheeks already red after Snake’s frank assessment. 

 

“Don’t get me wrong, that’s not saying a lot. The main qualification for being in Foxhound is being able to take your commander’s bullshit.” His fingers tensed around Rat’s bony shoulder just once, before he let his arm fall to the side. 

 

“Some of the men here, they think we’re destined to be something great. Heroes. Load of shit.” He tapped at the lighter in his pocket, letting his thumb rub over the flint wheel, pressing the grooves against the callouses there.

 

“The people here- they beat you down, train you, shape you. Only so they can use you the way  _ they  _ see fit.” It was his eyes that couldn’t meet Rat’s now, and he stared out into the dark. 

 

“There’s no glory there. Only pain.”

 

A sudden clink of metal snapped him back into focus, Rat closing and securing the kit. He held it tight in his hands as he stood, and for a moment Snake thought he might leave him there without another word.

 

“My mother told me something, before she died,” he said, and Snake found himself wondering how they’d landed here of all places. “Something her partner told her, said it kept her going over the years.”

 

He looked down at him, brows knit together in an expression Snake couldn’t read, but knew he hadn’t seen much of in recent years.

 

“Life is worth living.” Rat took a half step forward, just enough to offer an arm that Snake could grab with his good hand, and pulled him to his feet. “Even if it hurts you.”

 

“Even if you hurt in it.”

 

Snake raised an eyebrow, ready to laugh, to shake his head, to walk away- but Rat was looking at him so intently, tired eyes steady and earnest, he found he didn't have the strength.

 

”Thanks, kid.” A weary sort of smile crossed his face and he reached out to bury a hand in Rat’s hair, ruffling it like the fur or a particularly shaggy dog.

 

“I'll remember that.”


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next week, Rat was never far from Snake’s sight- though that was mostly due to his own efforts to keep an eye on him. After the fight between Bullfrog and himself no one seemed eager to pull another prank, at least not out in the open. Snake still sat at his usual table during meals, though it seemed he had less and less to contribute to the usual chatter. Not that he’d ever been a big talker, but these days he had a hard time listening as well.

 

“...so it’ll be soon. Right, Snake?”

 

“What?” He forced his eyes away from the far door and back to the table.

 

“Just saying, first snow is probably around the corner. You know what that means.” Tiger gave a sly smile to the blank faces of the newcomers, uncomprehending. “ _Hell freezes over._ ”

 

Snake grumbled in assent, the cold-weather hike was no one’s favorite part of training aside from Miller’s who liked to cheerfully insist that frostbite built character. From the safety of his layered parka, of course.

 

“Better enjoy the hot meals while you can.”

 

* * *

 

Snake found Rat later that day in the base’s library, several volumes open in front of him as he took down notes. He looked less out of place here, eyes hidden, the reflections of page after page of scientific diagrams reflected in his glasses. Only the slightest twitch of his head and the scratching of a pen on paper gave any indication he was breathing at all.

 

“What’s this?” Snake leaned back against the study desk, tapping an open book with the back of his hand.

 

“Work.”

 

“An assignment from Miller?” Snake shifted just a bit, enough to get a better look at what the kid was working on. Not the usual language or geography texts they were forced to drill, but a number of books on variety of subjects. Military history, physics, even a volume on Japanese poetry Miller had insisted on sticking on the shelves, not that anybody ever read it.

 

“No,” Rat shook his head, but didn’t look up. “Just... work.”

 

Snake frowned but said nothing more, and Rat was too intent on his note taking to pay him much mind. The smart thing would be to head back to the barracks and get some rest, a little quality time with his bunk while he still had the chance.

 

He pulled up a chair.

 

If Rat minded his presence, he said nothing of it, and Snake had mastered silence long ago.

 

It wasn’t a mission, there was no assignment or objective, but Snake couldn’t help but form his own catalogue of details- every piece of intel examined and locked away.

 

Cheekbones, jawline, too sharp to be called strong. Pointed, perhaps. Fragile. Delicate.

 

Rat’s brow twitched from time to time, either in thought or from the prickling of the hair against his forehead- cropped short, but still unruly, like a yard left unattended and prone to overgrowth.

Every so often he’d let out a hum, a tuneless sound, breathy and brief, an engine decompressing. Snake wondered if he noticed he was doing it.

 

Snake wondered if Rat noticed anything at all.

 

* * *

 

The sun was almost white in the sky, but the ground was already cold and unyielding beneath them. Rows of men, breathing ragged as they struggled to keep pace with Miller’s commands, knees high, arms up, hearts pounding so that every whisper of a breeze was a relief- as well as a reminder of things to come.

 

Snake couldn’t risk turning his head to look behind, but every so often he’d catch a glimpse of Rat from the corner of his eye. Hair matted with sweat, face burning bright and forcing himself along as the other men lapped him easily.

 

“Should just call an exterminator,” Crow wheezed, taking a drink from his canteen as the men cooled down. “Put him out of our misery.”

 

Bullfrog opened his mouth, but caught Snake’s eyes, dark and ready.

 

“Shut up, Crow.”

 

* * *

 

Rat made it to the mess hall just in time to grab a meal, wolfing it down before his pulse had truly had a chance to come back down. When he returned to his room, face still raw and stinging from the heat of the shower, Snake was there.

 

“Snake?”

 

“Just making sure you got in okay.”

 

The room was already thick with the scent of tobacco, two cigarettes already snubbed out beneath Snake’s boot as he lit a third.

 

“You’ve been looking out for me,” it wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact. An observation about the weather or time of day.

 

“You’re one of us.”

 

“I’m not, though.”

 

“...I know.”

 

Rat turned his back and started to undress, boots and t-shirt falling quickly to the floor. Snake might have expected some kind of shyness as he undid his belt and started shucking his undershirt, letting his pants hang loose and low around his waist, but Rat carried on as if no one was there at all.

 

Snake leaned back against the door, his eyes on the ground out of some version of modesty that had little place at a camp where he’d seen damn near every bare ass in the place coming out of the showers. He found his eyes trailing to the side anyways, where Rat had already shed most of his clothing, and was busy digging through the drawers for something to sleep in.

 

The autumn sun hadn’t done much for his complexion, scant hours that it was overhead. But the rigorous training, terrible as he was at it, had at least contributed to the stringy bands of muscle holding him together. His skin wasn’t exactly unmarred, hairline scratches visible for only a second as he tugged on a new shirt, a loose pair of pants, and Snake was surprised to find he’d almost expected them.

 

More curious were the jagged marks across his back- pale and parallel. They were familiar, but he couldn’t place the cause- only had vague memories of a foster sister he’d thought he’d long forgotten. She’d disappeared months after falling into what he’d only heard called “a bad way”, before he stopped hearing about her at all.

 

“You ever get drunk, Rat?”

 

“How old do you think I am?” He plucked the glasses from his face, security strap mussing his hair before leaving a telltale band across the back of his head.

 

“Just making conversation.”

 

“You’re a strange guy.”

 

“Yeah. Maybe.”

 

Rat sat down on his bed, bare feet making brief contact with the floor before he pulled them up onto the mattress, soft rustle of sheets against its plastic coating the only sound in the room.

 

“Was there something you wanted?” He blinked up at Snake, eyes unfocused and hazy, making him seem somehow faraway.

 

Snake leaned up against the frame of the upper bunk, forehead pressed into the wrist of his good arm, last scrap of the cigarette rolling between his lips. He stared down at Rat appraisingly, who met his gaze with undisguised confusion.

 

“You been feeling okay? Eating?”

 

He was rewarded with a crooked smirk and shrug as Rat struggled to know what to make of such a question.

 

“Yeah. Guess so. Just tired most of the time. But that’s probably by design, huh?”

 

“Heh. They don’t call him the Hellmaster for nothing.”

 

Snake lingered there a few moments longer, studying the slow and steady trail of a single drop of water just behind Rat’s ear.

“Take care of yourself Rat.” He pulled back, brushing at his lip with the rough back of his thumb. He turned to leave, hovering in the doorway before hitting the lights.

 

“Get some sleep.”

 

* * *

 

 

It had been six hours since the camp’s trucks and driven away, ambling down what passed for a road on the untamed mountainside. It was an area Snake knew well, one of Miller’s favorites for survival training, though it would be a lie to say he hand fond memories of the place.

 

It had been just after dawn when they’d been roused from their bunks, shouted into some kind of order on the field where they’d been given their instructions and their packs. Crow had asked if there would be tents on-site, which earned him (and everyone who laughed) ten laps before they were loaded up and shipped out.

 

Snake made his way through the woods, eyes sharp for signs of movement. They’d been dropped at different locations, all but kicked to the cold ground with directions to show back up for a pickup in forty-eight hours. Assuming they survived that long. Snake had rumbled to himself before looking back up into the truck, catching a glimpse of Rat who was staring down at him, uncertain, pack clutched close to his chest. A single nod was all Snake had time for before he was left alone, engine thrumming further and further away.

 

It was still light out, but the sun was fading fast, sky still silver but shifting to an iron grey. He didn’t have much time. Snake wagered he’d covered between eight and ten miles, pack starting to grow heavy on his back, but he speed wasn’t a priority just yet. He was looking for something- and eventually, he found it.

 

To his credit, Rat had done well for himself in the time he’d had. A rough lean-to had been set up, branches bolstered by the plastic tarp they’d been given. The ground had been cleared of debris, twigs and leaves collected in tidy piles. Kindling, Snake knew, and a satisfied smile crossed his face.

 

As for Rat, he was huddled beneath his makeshift shelter, struggling to open his packaged rations with gloved and half-frozen hands.

 

“Mix the peanut butter in with the oatmeal,” Snake called out, still ten feet away. “Doesn’t taste half bad, and it’s easier to eat. Trying to spread that stuff on crackers when it’s this cold is not for the faint of heart.”

 

Rat’s head shot up, bundled tightly in a grey stocking cap, but strands of unruly hair insisted on peeking out from under the brim. He relaxed a little as he saw Snake approach, finally succeeding in tearing the packet apart.

“You don’t have a fire going.”

 

“I thought… since it’s still light out…”

 

Snake shook his head. “Best time to do it. You drop your matches or firestarter in the dark, you might never find it. C’mon, dinner will taste better if you’re warm.”

 

Rat followed Snake to the edge of the clearing, just beyond the reach of the shelter and watched as he unloaded his pack, setting aside his knife, the standard issue tin of matches and tinder as well as his own MRE.

 

Before long, the two of them had a respectable fire going, and Rat had lost no time in scooting closer to it, allowing his hands and feet to thaw.

 

“You did a good job with the kindling,” Snake started, “but you’ve got some more fuel on you too. The wrappers from your food, anything plastic.”

 

“Because of the petroleum?”

 

“Heh, exactly.”

 

Rat tossed the empty packet of oatmeal into the flames, an amused smile flashing across his features as it crinkled and burned.

 

“Cool.”

 

The sat like that for a while, content to watch the flames flicker and glow, Rat pulling his jacket tight to his chest each time the wind began to blow.

 

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you Snake?”

 

He nodded. “Couple of times. Always a little different, though.” The fire was beginning to die out, but it was for the best. He’d never hear the end of it if Miller heard he’d let an open flame guide the enemy straight to him. Real or imagined.

 

“Tomorrow we’ll head out, find the stream. Fill our canteens and see what we can do about finding something out here to eat.”

 

“Tomorrow?” Rat echoed. “You mean you’re… staying?”

 

“That okay with you?”

 

Rat’s face was difficult to read, expression blank and open, planes of his nose and cheeks deepened by what was left of the fire.

 

“I guess I just assumed it was, I don’t know- against the rules?”

 

Snake let out a single huff of laughter. “Something tells me the usual rules don’t apply where you’re concerned.”

 

Rat didn’t answer, instead offering only an unsure shrug before returning his gaze to the dying flames. By the time he rose to ready his bag for sleeping, they were little more than embers.

 

“Sleep well, Rat. Stay warm.”

 

“You too, Snake.”

 

Snake prepared his own bag before trampling what remained of the ashes, burying them in gravel and dirt until the night was dark once more.

 

* * *

 

 

Sleep was never easy in conditions like these, with the hard earth beneath them and freezing winds slapping hard against their shelter. Rising in the morning was almost a relief.  They found their way to the mountain stream and Snake showed Rat how to collect water without coming near enough to risk getting wet.

 

“Feels like we’re in for another drop,” he said, face lifted as he tried to pick up the scents on the wind. “Rain, maybe snow.”

 

“Snow? That could mean trouble, right?” Rat dropped the pile of sticks he’d been carrying back to the lean-to, trying to discern what Snake was looking for.

 

Snake shrugged. “Yes and no. Snow can be built up into a wall, it’s a good insulator. You can collect and melt it for drinking water. Rain, though. It has a way of creeping into your skin.” He looked back to Rat, already shivering slightly in the grey light of day. “It’s better to be cautious of both.”

 

Dinner was a rabbit Snake managed to snare, and he busied himself cleaning it as he watched Rat start a fire, just as he shown him the day before. Soon the two of them were eating, if not actually enjoying the meal, which brought some much needed warmth to their bodies.

 

The respite was short-lived as Snake’s fears came true, and a curtain of rain passed over them, forcing them under the wall of their shelter, and crushing the life out of the fire.  Without a word, they started pulling out their sleeping bags, wrapping their boots tightly in their packs before slipping inside.

 

It was strange to Snake- not being in such close proximity to another person without talking, but realizing he _wanted_ to, even if he didn’t know what they’d talk about. Instead they lay beside each other in near silence, the spattering of rain the only sound in the night.

 

Snake didn’t remember falling asleep, but as his eyes shot open in the dark he was instantly aware of the raw and lingering soreness in his hands and feet, and the stabbing pain in his shoulder where some innocent looking pebble had seen fit to take root. He turned on his side and could just make out the form of Rat’s face, prominent nose and wild strands of hair catching what little light there was. His mouth hung slack, but he seemed oddly still, even in sleep.

 

“Rat.” Snake grumbled, chest rattling like an old motor. “Rat. You doing okay?”

 

There was no answer, so Snake awkwardly pulled an arm from his bag, reaching out enough to shake his companion, and called his name again.

 

“Rat! Gotta check in. Report.”

 

Rat’s eyes opened, too unfocused and slowly for Snake’s liking, and he failed to respond, lips only twitching once before falling loose again.

 

“ _Dammit_.”

 

It was never easy, manipulating the finicky zippers of the standard-issue sleeping bags, and the gloves and the dark only served to make the task more difficult, but Snake had his open in a matter of seconds. He pulled himself out just enough so he could grab Rat’s bag, shaking it again, still dissatisfied with the result.

 

The trick now was to act quickly, to not allow hesitation to counteract any of the good of his plan. Every second they were exposed to the elements was a critical one, and from the looks of it, Rat was already near the brink of something serious.

 

He located the zipper of his own bag, holding it tight in one hand while finding the same spot on Rat’s. Thanking whatever benevolent god was watching them, he managed to latch both sets of sliders and teeth together, enclosing the two of them together.

 

Rat still hadn’t moved, which was worrying, but there was little Snake could do besides grab onto him and pull him as close to his chest as their bulky uniforms would allow. The nose and lips pressed against his neck were icy cold, but he could feel Rat’s breathing, slow and unsteady- but warm.

 

Rat finally stirred, some hours later, soft shifting of the head finally turning to meaningful wakefulness.

 

“S-Snake?”

 

“Yeah. You okay?”

 

He nodded, burying his face a little further down into the folds, his fingers flexing and curling against the heat of Snake’s body.

 

“Mmf. Y-yeah. It’s better like this,” he murmured, chest now steady in its rise and fall.

  
“Feels warm.”


	4. Chapter 4

“What do you mean “out on a mission”?”

 

Snake gripped the edge of Miller’s desk, staring down at the seated man who failed to give the slightest impression of caring.

 

“Exactly that, Snake. Rat was away on a solo mission.”

 

“You can’t be serious!”

 

Snake slammed the butt of his hand against the desk, growling frustrated curses back at Miller’s smug face. The conversation was going nowhere, every question met with the same bullshit excuses of “classified information”. 

 

“He’s an agent of Foxhound.”

 

“He’s just a kid!”

 

“So were you, when you got your start.” 

 

“It’s not the same, he’s still green!”

 

Miller tipped at the edges of his glasses, studying Snake over the tops of his frames with pale and cautious eyes.

 

“Snake,” he leaned back into his chair, opening some secret bottom drawer, producing a slim but official looking folder which joined the lone disk sitting on top of his desk. “Rat’s… not exactly a rookie.”

 

* * *

 

 

It would be too much to say things had been going “well” since their return from the survival hike, but the two of them had at least fallen into an easy sort of routine. Rat was an effortless presence at his side most times, and the rest of the men seemed to have given up on harassing him as long as his “guard dog” was around. Not that Rat ever came running to him. Instead it was Snake who found himself scanning the crowd for that familiar nest of ashen hair.

 

It meant he was spending more time in the library, or back at the barracks when most of the men had gone off base, visiting the town for a night of drinking ogling whatever two-bit show the local strip club saw fit to put on. Some part of him did want to get absolutely pissed, break a few bottles and chairs and work out whatever had been brewing inside of him for weeks with howling and sweat. But even that might not have been enough. Better to stay behind, to try and sort out the tempest that had been brewing in his head since his first night back from Outer Heaven.

 

He’d shown up at Rat’s door once again, dark bottles in hand, half-grin on his face as he let himself inside. Rat was predictably, busy at his desk, this time working on diagrams of his own, tapping away on a calculator that looked just like the one Miller stabbed at at the end of each quarter. He gave Snake a quick nod, but turned back to his figures, leaving Snake to his own devices.

 

“Don’t you ever take a break?” Rat’s bed was poorly made, the efforts of someone who had never mastered a hospital corner, made even more untidy as Snake made himself at home. 

 

“I did, once,” Rat answered, still not looking up, “when I was ten. Didn’t care for it.”

 

“You’re joking.” Snake pulled himself up on his elbows, staring in disbelief.

 

“Yep.” Rat looked up with a smile that quickly faded as he noticed the bottle on his desk. “What’s this?”

 

“Thought you might want to join me for a drink.”

 

Rat observed quietly as Snake pried open the bottles with the side of his lighter, handing one over before taking a sip of his own. He sniffed at the opening, nose screwing up at the unfamiliar scent. 

 

“Where did you even get these?” 

 

Snake snorted, shaking his head as he relaxed back onto the bed. “Foxhound operatives have to be adept at on-site procurement of weapons and supplies,” he grinned. “That includes rations.”

 

It was a few seconds before Rat finally took a large gulp, immediately sputtering and coughing at the taste.

 

“It… it’s so sweet!”

 

“Well, it’s root beer, so-”

 

“Pf-” Hal tapped the mouth of the bottle against his brow, bowing his head in defeat. “Of course it is.”

 

“What? You didn’t think I was going to bring you-”

 

“I never know what to expect with you, Snake.”  He took another sip, nose twitching at the tickle of invisible bubbles. “So, what are we drinking to?”

 

Snake rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow, his lips twisted in thought as he looked at the far wall, then back to Rat. “Does there have to be a reason?”

 

“Guess not,” he swung himself around in his seat, letting one socked foot drag across the floor as he tucked the other beneath him. “Just thought this kind of thing was for special occasions. Birthdays, or uh, successful missions?” He clutched the bottle tight in both hands, giving Snake an expectant look.

 

“Sure,” Snake grinned, taking another slow sip from his bottle. 

 

“But sometimes you just want to share a drink with a friend.”

 

* * *

 

 

Folder shaking in his hands, Snake scanned the scant few documents Miller had seen fit to show him. Rat’s face, tired and harried, stared back up at him from a series of photos better suited to student yearbooks than a military file. A birthdate, a short list of cities, countries, remote bases, but little else, much of the information redacted and struck through, not unlike Snake’s own. 

 

“What’s this? Test pilot 01? Sahelanthropus?” Even as the strange syllables fell from his lips, he could feel the pieces of the story coming together. 

 

“Not the engineering marvel some hoped it would be,” Miller scratched at the stubble of his chin, eyes keen on Snake. “There were certain major limitations, namely the need to train any potential pilots from an exceedingly young age. I think you can understand why the change was made to a more autonomous version.”

 

“Metal Gear?” Snake threw the folder down on Miller’s desk with an wholly unsatisfying ‘slap’. “You mean to tell me Rat gets inside one of those things and drives it around doing god knows what?”

 

“Used to,” Miller tidied the scattered papers, tucking them back into order. “Rat...  _ aged out  _ of the program earlier this year, and frankly, they didn’t know what to do with him. The Sahelanthropus was never a particularly efficient tool, more of a weapon of deterrence than anything.” He cleared his throat.

 

“But with Outer Heaven out of the picture, and now that we know who was really running the show, the powers that be have seen fit to dump their garbage on Foxhound. So now it’s up to me to figure out how to dispose of him.”

 

“And you thought a suicide operation was the best way to go?” Snake and Miller hadn’t always seen eye to eye, and there were times when he’d come damn near close to punching the man square in the face. But he’d never felt anything like the pounding tension surging from the back of his skull to the very bones of his face until he thought he might actually kill the man just by staring at him. “Or is Foxhound just in the habit of sending its men out on missions with no expectation of them coming home these days?”

 

“It wasn’t a real mission, Snake.”

 

“They were shooting at him with real guns,” he snapped. “And for what, that disk? Is there even anything on it?”

 

“There’s a security file to make sure he brought back the correct one,” Miller tore his eyes away at last, flickering down to the object in questions. “But that’s all.”

 

“That’s sick.”

 

“I knew his father.” The words hang in the air, cold and empty. “A lot of good men ended up dead because of him.” 

 

“And you think Rat is…  _ could possibly be _ like…”

 

Miller tipped his glasses low, eyebrows knit tightly together as he watched Snake slowly come undone before him. “Maybe you need to take a walk. Get some air. Get some  _ perspective. _ ”

 

“What I need are answers.”

 

“That’s enough!” It was an unsteady and deliberate thing, the way Miller pulled himself up from his desk, good hand steadying himself on his desk, faint squeak of metal as it edged just barely against the floor. 

 

Only then did Snake catch a whiff of something stale and sour.

 

“You of all people should know what happens when you get too close to the men beneath you,” he grumbled.

 

Snake opened his mouth to argue, to yell, to ask how he dared to say such a thing to him here and now. But the words stuck in his throat, strangling each other as they fought to be heard. It was a small blessing when a knock at the door interrupted them both.

 

“Sir. He’s awake.”

 

“Thank you,” Miller threw himself back into his chair, a sigh deep and long clearing the air. “I can’t forbid you from going to see him Snake. But I advise against it.”

 

“Go to hell.”

 

“Rat is not your concern, Snake.”

  
“Maybe not.” Snake turned to leave, barely bothering with a glance back at the man he’d thought he knew. “But he’s clearly not one of yours.”


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn’t pretty.

 

Not that there was anything particularly beautiful about Rat at his best. Even when his face was clean and his hair was neat, and he remembered to stand up straight and the sun had warmed his slate grey eyes with a honeyed sort of glow, Snake would never have called him handsome. But the sight of him in the infirmary bed, chest shaking with effort, yet still whole was a welcome one, and the only thing Snake wanted to see.

 

Rat turned to him, one eye squinting as Snake came near, pulling a chair up to his bedside. The other was obscured by bandages, slipping down from their spot across his forehead, eyelashes twitching in a failed effort to brush them away. 

 

“S-Snake?” It was a faint and reedy sound, dry wind through grass. 

 

Snake struggled to reign in the heat still pulsing behind his eyes. He couldn’t let Rat sense a hint of his tightly sealed rage, lest he somehow think he was at fault.“Yeah, it’s me.”

 

He was gratified to see that Rat relaxed at that, shoulders shifting as he fell back against the bed, though he let his head roll to the side, unfocused eye still directed at Snake.

 

“Your glasses?”

 

“Broken,” Rat gave a sigh that caught in his throat, a cough followed by two more. “They say they’ll have another pair for me in a couple of days though.”

 

“Must be rough without them.”

 

“It’s okay,” he smiled tiredly. “I’m not going anywhere for a while.”

 

It was true enough from the looks of him. A large cast dominated his right arm, and his left bore wrappings not unlike the ones he’d fitted Snake with only a few weeks prior. Dark and painful bruises were already blossoming where the bandages left his skin uncovered, across his collarbone and shoulders- telltale marks of a body slamming against a jammed door in a hasty retreat- or the unyielding ground when things went really wrong.

 

Snake reached a hand out, open and slow, the way he’d been taught to approach a wounded animal in the wild, and let it settle gently in Rat’s hair. He’d rather have slammed his fist into the wall or shot a bullet into the faces of whoever was responsible, but he knew it would do little good. He was needed here, and now, and had to set his anger aside while he took on this delicate operation for which he was ill prepared. 

 

“Rat… about the mission…”

 

Rat’s eye opened wide, chest still with a held breath as he looked to Snake expectantly, but by the time he spoke it was already beginning to drift closed again. “Yes?”

 

“You… you did good.”

 

* * *

 

 

Snake continued to show up for training, growling as he went through the motions of whatever Miller threw at his men. His heart wasn’t in it (had it ever been?) but it gave him a chance to work off some of the tension pulling him tight, twisting him in every direction at all hours of the day. Rat spent most of his time asleep, knocked out from whatever variety of painkillers thy’d pumped him with, barely managing a few hours of wakefulness as afternoon light made its way through the windows. 

Snake showed up at five o’clock, as he always did, dinner tray gripped tightly in his hands, though Rat did little more than pick at some of the softer offerings. He bore a slim smile as Rat straightened up in his bed, and plucked the new glasses from his bedside table, gratitude clear on his face. 

 

The new frames were different than his last pair, lenses round and wide, making him look somewhat older as he peered around the room, slipping together every corner and angle like pieces of a puzzle he was trying to figure out. 

 

“You don’t have to keep bringing that,” Rat nodded towards the tray. “They feed me. When I’ve got an appetite anyway.”

 

Snake raised an eyebrow as he dropped into his usual chair without ceremony. “Well that’s good,” he grinned. “Was tired of sharing anyway.” 

 

He handed over the apple that was bumping against the corner of his tray, doing it’s best to escape, and Rat accepted it happily, gnawing at it’s bright red skin, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

 

“What are those?”

 

“Hm?” Snake swallowed a forkful of potatoes before looking down at the books he’d set down at the foot of Rat’s bed. “Oh. Thought you might be getting a little bored in here. No work books though, just novels. Don’t fry that brain of yours while you’re still working on getting better, okay?”

 

“Thanks.”

 

He set the fruit aside, reaching out for the books and shifting them to the side until he found one that appealed, propping its cover open with a single thumb, flipping clumsily through the pages. He pulled it up to his chest, rubbing a knuckle over the spine and tilting his head as he got settled in, eventually curling his arm around an unsteady knee and tried to read.

 

“That doesn’t look comfortable.”

 

Rat looked up, a little surprised, as though he hadn’t noticed he’d twisted in on himself at all. “Oh, it’s just..” he held up his hand, fingers twitching slightly from their bandaged prison. He looked up expectantly. “You could help.”

 

“I’m not going to read you a bedtime story.”

 

“What? No!” Color found its way to his cheeks. “But you could turn the pages.”

 

Dave sighed and set his tray down before dusting some incidental speck of dust from his legs. 

 

“Scoot over.” 

 

It was a few seconds before Rat realized he was serious, and then a few more before he could work his way to the far side of the bed, though he rolled back towards the center once Snake rested his weight on the mattress. He kicked off his boots, letting them fall to the ground, and swung and arm over the back of the hospital bed before making himself useful and taking the book from Rat’s unsteady hand.

 

An hour passed, the two of them in near silence besides the occasional murmur from Rat and soft rustle of yellowed paper. Snake’s eyes occasionally trailed down to the pages, but Rat turned out to be a much quicker read than he was, so for the most part he was left to his own thoughts.

 

The fluorescent tube at the far end of the room was flickering faintly, doing it’s best to keep aglow. A faint but omnipresent antiseptic smell lingered in the air, making the air seem strange and artificial- but it was better that than blood, he supposed. Thankfully, there had been few calls for men to be sent out on anything but routine missions, so the only patrons of the infirmary had been men with modest wounds, biting off more than they could chew at the hint of a dare. For the most part, Rat was alone here, mending, resting, and if Snake’s experience was anything to go by- running every detail of his last mission over and over in his head. 

 

Snake turned to look at him now, shoulders still twitching to match with unsteady breaths, lips, chapped and dry, catching against the edges of his teeth, eyes unmoving, pointed straight ahead.

 

“You haven’t read this one before, have you?” Snake had given up trying to make himself comfortable, though the bars of the bed’s headboard persisted in prodding him in the back. 

 

Rat shook his head. “No, but I heard it’s supposed to be pretty good. Clarke’s favorite of all of them.”

 

“You a fan?”

 

“S-something like that.” He gnawed at the inside of his cheek, still staring at the same page Snake had held been holding open for several minutes. “I guess I get it though, a utopia. Hope for the future. Science paving the way for peace.”

 

“...Rat?”

 

“It can’t just be in books, can it?”

 

Snake shifted a bit in the bed, weighing his words carefully. He’d only seen the darkest of what the world of science had to offer- more efficient ways of turning men into bodies, and ideologies into law. Was peace any part of that?

 

“I’m not sure.”

 

“You know, don’t you?” Rat looked up at last, current page all but memorized. “They must have told you by now, about everything. What I did… or used to do.”

 

“It’s not like you had a choice in the matter. You were just a kid.”

 

_ Still are _ .

 

“I know.” Rat’s fingers fumbled in the dull and scratchy fabric of his blanket. “But if I’m not a pilot anymore… I’m not sure I can… that I have another…” He took a quick gasp of breath, a swimmer going under.

 

“My mom used to tell me Sahelanthropus was made for me,” he whispered. “But after she was gone, when I saw the way  _ he _ looked at me I knew the truth.”

 

“I was made for it.”

 

Rat bucked once in surprise as Snake’s arms shot around him in a tight embrace, ramming his still tender shoulder into his chest with enough force to make him wince. He couldn’t help but lean into it, screwing up his face so tight is burned with the pressure as he struggled not to let a single tear escape. 

 

Minutes passed and Snake’s grip remained firm and silent, only moving to bury his nose and lips in Rat’s hair. He mumbled something unheard, condolences or curses, Rat couldn’t be sure. Eventually he found the strength to speak again.

 

“When Miller gave me my orders, I thought maybe… if I could run this mission on my own, I’d prove I was good enough. Like you, Snake.”

 

His last words caught as he blinked at the sudden pressure of fingers, strong and tense on his arm, holding him in place before Snake found his own.

 

_ “You are so much better.” _

* * *

 

 

The compound lights were just coming to life when Snake finally stepped outside, cold air sharp and unwelcoming against his chest and arms. He rubbed at them absently, trying to brush away the numbness that lingered, slow exhalations turning white as they passed over his lips.

He turned, surprised to see Bullfrog out at this time of night, but was passed a box of cigarettes before he said anything. It was nearly empty. The smoke in his lungs did its part to warm his body, but Snake still found himself battling the trembling sort of energy shaking through him.

 

“Don’t know what Miller was thinking,” the smoke curled around Bullfrog’s words, slow and deliberate.

 

Snake said nothing, but glanced to his side, just enough to take in the nasty star shaped scar on Bullfrog’s cheek, only now starting to soften into the other features of his face.

 

“He doesn’t belong here.”

 

Snake spat, boot already sliding across the thin icy gloss on the ground, fist tightening at his side.

 

“I thought we were done with this.”

 

“Snake, shit.  _ Listen _ ,” Bullfrog growled, grinding his own cigarette into the wall behind them. “You can’t tell me you think Rat really belongs in the middle of this. Being sent out on missions?” His eyes narrowed as he searched Snake’s face for some hint of comprehension. “That,” he nipped his head back towards the infirmary doors, “should _ no _ t have happened.”

 

Snake crossed his arms, fists still twisting in the crux of his arms. He nodded.

 

“You know as well as I do that if Rat stays here he’s going to end up dead.” He rubbed at the underside of his jaw, looking out into the night. “Hell, he’s not any older than my brother, last time I saw him.”

 

“Miller’s gotta owe you one, doesn’t he? Can’t you talk to him? Get that kid out of here before he gets himself shot?” 

 

“Right now I wouldn’t trust Miller to get wet in the rain,” Snake muttered, rubbing a thumb at his temple, eyes shuttered tight in thought.

 

“Then what happens to Rat?”

 

“I don't know.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Forgot I still had this.”

 

“Ah!” Rat reached out gratefully to accept the dogeared volume. “I thought I’d lost it. Thank you.”

 

“It any good?” There was a squeak of metal against the floor, springs giving way under gentle pressure.

 

“I think so,” Rat smiled. “They made a movie out of it. Not that that’s any guarantee.” 

 

“You like movies?”

 

“Probably.” Rat pulled his knees up near his chest, tucking the blanket in around himself. “I haven’t seen very many.” He worked a little longer on making himself comfortable before holding out his arm, pale and weakened, but whole.

 

“Did you see?” He flexed his fingers once or twice.”They said with a little work it’ll be good as new. Lucky, huh?” 

 

“Lucky. Yeah.”

 

Rat peered at Snake, today’s reticence somehow different enough to cause alarm.

 

“Snake?”

 

“Rat… listen,” Snake pulled his chair a little closer, casting an eye over his shoulder before continuing in hushed tones. “You’ve gotta get out of here.”

 

“What? But… I thought-”

 

The briefest shake of Snake’s head was enough to quiet him.

 

“It’s not about that, not about Foxhound or Miller or even the damn mission,” he looked up, and tried to ignore the wavering hurt and confusion he saw on Rat’s face. 

 

“You don’t owe these people anything.”

 

“Maybe not,” the words came out in broken syllables as Rat tried to steady himself, control his breaths. “But you-”

 

“I wouldn’t let you leave alone,” Snake allowed his shoulders to ease down, and placed a firm hand on Rat’s head, fingers coiling in the increasingly untidy nest of hair. “We go together.”

 

Somewhere between the wide expanse of his glasses and the hanging overgrowth of poorly maintained hair, Rat managed to catch Snake’s eyes. There was something like fear there but it looked desperate to give way to hope, and something more.

 

“Is it… can we?”

 

“Leave it to me.”

* * *

 

 

The next few days were full of avoidant glances and awkward conversations as Snake worked his way down the list of every person in the camp who had ever owed him so much as a dime. It didn’t amount to much, but every crumpled, sweat soaked bill that got shoved into his hand made things a little more real, until he could just about see the shape of it. There was enough cash to get the two of them a few town over if they played their cards right- and from they’d be on their own.

 

Snake didn’t exactly have any promising job prospects lined up, but he could fry an egg or dig ditches or any other number of menial tasks. It didn’t matter what he ended up doing, so long as it was on his terms. 

 

As for Rat…

 

It was clear he wasn’t cut out for the grunt work Snake was all but made for. His days would be better spent hitting the books until something worth his time came along.

 

It wasn't much of a plan, but it was a start.

 

It was hope.

* * *

 

 

The same stale and sterile air greeted Snake as he walked through the infirmary doors, calm and even expression set on his face as he wrestled with just how much to reveal. It was important to be honest about his concerns about just up and leaving the only kind of life he’d known his entire adult life, but he didn’t want to overwhelm Rat with his own uncertainties. They’d talk it out. Sort things through.

 

Snake had made it all the way to Rat’s assigned bed before he realized it was empty.

 

“Snake?” The only nurse that worked in the place was kind, if a little distant, and clearly overworked. “Rat’s been discharged.”

 

* * *

 

 

Snake had taken a little time before showing up at Rat’s door, pack slung over his shoulder, bottles in hand. He knocked twice, then twice more before announcing himself and opening the door.

 

“Finally let you out, huh? Seems like a good time for a cele-”

 

The room was empty.

 

The desk was clear of books and papers, floor dusty but bare of Rat’s boots or bag, and the bottom bunk now lay as empty as it’s partner. 

 

“Rat’s gone, Snake.”

 

Miller stood a few feet away, metal fingers curling around the doorframe as his eyes trailed around the empty room. 

 

“Discharged this morning. Gave the order for Bullfrog to drive him into town. Bus has already picked him up by now.”

 

Snake’s let his pack fall to the floor, but took care to set the bottles down neatly on top of Rat’s desk, watching carefully as condensation pooled around their base. 

 

“And you thought  _ this _ ,” he whispered, “was the best way to tell me.”

 

Miller didn’t budge from his spot. “The decision had been made. I couldn’t have you interfering after all the trouble I went through to-”

 

“The hell you say!” Snake’s fist trembled at his side, desperate for contact. 

 

“It was never going to work out. Rat wasn’t cut out for this life. He’s where he belongs now.”

 

“What would you know about that?” Snake growled. “He belongs-”

 

“In school. At a university,” Miller waved a single hand, sharp and gleaming in the air. “And we did the best we could for him. It was a lot of a favors I had to call in, but he’s got a chance to make something of himself now. Under our watch of course, but I doubt he’ll notice.”

 

“Where…”

 

“You know I’m not going to tell you that, Snake.” His eyes shot down to the pack, inert on the ground. “I suppose you think you could have done better?”

 

“You didn’t come here to ask me what I think.”

 

“No,”  MIller sighed and reached into his back pocket before handing his cargo off to Snake. “Just came to give you this.”

 

Snake stared down at the familiar, if poorly kept novel. He snatched it out of Miller’s hands, eyes still questioning everything he’d heard, but willing to accept any scrap of consolation at this point. 

 

“He said he’d hope you’d find the time to read it,” Miller said quietly, finally retreating into the hallway. “Seemed important.”

 

Snake didn’t bother watching him walk away.

 

* * *

 

 

It was late, or possibly early when Snake shook himself awake, shoulders bucking as he lurched forward in the chair he’d collapsed in hours before. The hazy light, be it the lamps or the rising sun was unwelcome as it settled upon his sullen and haggard features.

 

They said defeat was bitter, which was probably why he’d tried to drown it out with cheap cigarettes and even cheaper beer, the ghost of which still clung to his tongue and teeth. He swallowed harshly, baring his neck to the stagnant air of his room and wondered how many hours it had gone by. 

 

His head was pulsing with a dull sort of ache, eye’s struggling to get used to the light streaming in through the window and onto his desk. He’d never been a great scholar, not the way Rat had been, and the only thing there now was the book he’d left behind.

 

Tired, unfocused and not really expecting to understand much of anything he thumbed through it, unsurprised to see the plight of astronauts greeting him from pages, though as he was he could only glean the barest understanding of the story. He blinked hard, flipping back to some blank section, the empty space at the end of a chapter and sat up straight as he recognized Rat’s handwriting, tidy and precise, a secret whisper from a the far corner of a quiet room.

 

_ Snake- _

_ I know things didn’t turn out the way we hoped _

_ And I’m sorry- _

_ But maybe there’s a meaning just to two people meeting. _

_ If so- _

_ I think we did that right. _

 

The yellow paper crinkled softly as Snake’s tired fingers scraped across it. It was a laughable notion. He knew he’d never done anything right in his life. Even as a soldier he’d failed to fail, and look what that had gotten him. 

 

But maybe, for all his wide-eyed optimism, Rat was right. Maybe the two of them together…

 

His eyes fell to the pack by his feet, still bound tight with his belongings. Everything he’d thought he needed for a fresh start.

 

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

 


	6. Epilogue

 

_ Alaska, Fox Archipelago - 2005 _

 

“Weapons and equipment are procure-on-site, I assume.”

 

“Yes. This is a top-secret black-op, Snake. Don’t expect any official support. But-”

 

“There’s always a ‘but’.”

 

“You won’t be entirely on your own. You’ll have your support team available at all times via CODEC, and we’ve got a man on the inside.”

 

“I thought you said this was a solo mission.”

 

“It is. But if the terrorists do in fact have the ability to launch a nuclear missile, you’re going to need an expert on hand. Someone who has worked extensively with Metal Gears.”

 

“Colonel, I’m not exactly a rookie, here. I’ve had plenty of experience with those monstrosities.”

 

“Not like this guy. When you’re inside and have your bearings, be sure to locate Dr. Hal Emmerich. He’ll be expecting you.”

 

“Understood.” 

* * *

 

 

It hadn’t been the smoothest infiltration, Snake had the nagging suspicion he’d been notices almost as soon as he’d set foot on the island. But he’d already picked up some key pieces of intel, and managed to locate the Colonel’s niece, the sort of wide-eyed, die hard optimist he’d sworn off of years ago. There was still no sign of Emmerich, though, and the man had maintained radio silence, leaving Snake to search for him in the most likely place for a wizened old scientist to camp out- the research and development offices.

 

The metal door slid open, revealing a cold and lifeless exterior, row after row of silent computer towers, screens dark and shuttered. But no sign of the doctor.

 

“I thought it might be you.”

 

Snake turned, and for a moment thought he must have been hearing things before a figure slowly… _ phased _ into view. He was a slender man, bushy haired and sorely in need of a shave. Everything about him screamed ‘scientist’, utterly unsurprising. Everything, that was, except the broad smile slowly warming the man’s pointed features.

 

“Doctor Emmerich?” 

 

“It’s good to see you again, Snake.”

 

Realization was slow to in coming, but eventually Snake managed to put the pieces together, memories of the rookie he’d known back at camp slowly surfacing, evolving into the man standing before him.

 

“You’re…”

 

“Just a lab rat now,” Hal’s grin softened into something smaller and more familiar. “But hopefully one who is going to help you sort this all out.” 

 

“You get blackmailed into this mission as well?”

 

“Volunteered. Actually.” Wire frames, large and round and utterly unbecoming, slipped down his nose, but a quick shove soon had them back in place. “Turns out I did still have some value. To the right people.”

 

“ So it’s ‘Hal’, huh? Just like in the book?”

 

“You did read it then,” Hal beamed, and Snake found himself coming to a realization. Fate had a sense of humor after all.

 

“What’s so funny?”

 

Snake clasped a brief hand over Hal’s shoulder and gave him a brief determined nod.

 

“When this is over, I’ll tell you.”

 

The answer clearly puzzled Hal, but he found himself nodding in agreement just the same.

 

“Come on. We’ve got work to do.”


End file.
